Emerald Archer: Season 1
by Revenant-Commander
Summary: In a Starling City where Laurel Lance is a detective under her father, Moira is married to Malcolm and playing a dangerous game, and Malcolm has a following of Acolytes, there is little hope for the people of the Glades. Enter the ruthless Emerald Archer, armed with a List and a thirst for revenge, who attracts the attention of Merlyn and his Acolytes.


_**Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow or the greater DC Universe. **_

_**A/N: This is a different take on the series, with characters having different positions than in the show. The first chapter/episode is dedicated to exploring the new paradigm and setting the stage, just like the pilot of a TV series would, which is why I'm calling this fic a 'season' and the chapters 'episodes'. **_

_**ON RELATIONSHIPS: Please remember I am a neutral when it comes to shipping. Like on the show, relationships will change, grow, etc. I can say that there is one relationship in this fic that will make people wonder, but it's based on the aspects of this fic rather than interactions on the show. Finally, I am having none of this 'Laurel has always been in love with Oliver and is now in love with him even more because he's the Archer' crap from the show. Does she respect what he does? Yes. But I will **_**never**_** write a fic where a character is with someone basically out of 'hero-worship'. If Laurel and Oliver are the final couple in this series, it will be from **_**natural progression**_** and **_**mutual respect**_**, not some 'fated lovers' tripe. **_

Emerald Archer: Season 1

By

Revenant-Commander

Episode 1:

The New Paradigm

The people of the Glades paid no mind to the man who walked along the sidewalk with a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and carrying a backpack. There didn't appear to be anything particularly special about the man, who had a dark hoodie up that, in conjunction with his sunglasses, kept his appearance obscured. He wasn't the first odd man to enter the Glades to find refuge, and he wouldn't be the last. But the people of the Glades, and of Starling City, would soon know this man very well. Not as the person he had been; no, that boy had died on the Island of Lian Yu, died the moment he was tortured by Bill Wintergreen. No, the man they would find themselves coming to know was what had taken that boy's place. Some would call him the Hood, and others the Emerald Archer. He had been born as Oliver Queen, a spoiled rich kid with an ego and a taste for fast cars, expensive champagne, and every skirt that would let him in. Which, being a rich playboy, was most of them.

But Ollie Queen, party-boy and douche-bag extraordinaire was dead. In his place was Oliver Queen, a man forged by torture and harsh conditions on the Island into a weapon that would bring justice to those who poisoned Starling City. The criminal elite who believed themselves above the law because they could bribe, bully, and 'vanish' those who stood in their way were about to meet the faceless nightmare that had been brought to their city by Robert Queen's dying wish, that his son right the wrongs done by the Queen family to the people of Starling.

Oliver hopped over the fence separating his father's old steel plant from the rest of the Glades and entered the Foundry. He set the duffel bag down and crouched to pick up a manual. It was an annual shareholder's report, his father's image on the cover. It had been a difficult decision, but Oliver had decided not to let those he cared about know he was alive. His father, before he died, had suggested the accident was not such, and Oliver was determined to learn whether the yacht had gone down of its own accord or if it had been sabotaged before he allowed those he cared about to know he was alive.

For now, it was time to begin transforming the foundry into a lair he could work out of. Luckily, his father had had the foresight to include some off-grid banking accounts in the information he had left Oliver, accounts Oliver had discovered during his time away from the Island thanks to Amanda Waller; never mind that his return to the Island was likewise down to Waller. Thanks not only to those accounts, but also Anatoli's friendship and connections here in Starling, Oliver would be able to power his lair once he got it set up; the generators he had purchased with discreet funds from Anatoli's contacts would help in that regard.

In another part of the Glades, a thug in a leather coat ran away from his pursuer, looking back and wondering why, of all the people connected to Adam Hunt, he was being chased by the she-devil of the Glades Precinct, as people called Detective Laurel Lance. The woman acted like she was possessed sometimes, chasing down her targets with a single-minded focus, and it was his unfortunate luck that he was the current target of that focus now. Busting down a rusting door, the thug pushed his way into an abandoned warehouse and tried to escape the she-devil by losing her in the darkened warehouse.

A moment later, he felt a vice-like pain in his chest, and heard the soft _pop_ of a silenced pistol. A moment later, he fell back, spun around by the bullet that had entered his right lung. He felt a second bullet smash through his back into his left lung, and coughed, blood splattering on the floor in front of him. Rolling onto his side, he looked into the darkness and saw the smug expression of the enforcer used by most of the city's criminal elite to deal with their 'soiled laundry' fading into the darkness as hurried footsteps filled the warehouse.

Laurel Lance entered the room, aiming her gun (the mounted flashlight of which was shining into the dark reaches of the room) around as she looked for any threats. Finding none, she kneeled next to the dying man, calling for help on her radio before focusing her attention on the man. "Who did this to you?" she asked. "Did he work for Hunt? Do you know his name?"

"Dra-Drakon," The dying man spluttered out, blood welling up past his lips before spilling out of his mouth with one last sigh of remaining air. Laurel tried the best she could to resuscitate him, but by the time the medics arrived, it was too late. The low-level thug was yet another victim in the endless war between Adam Hunt and the downtrodden people of the Glades that he victimized with his actions. Still, she hadn't come out of this chase completely empty-handed. She had a name to go by now, someone to look into: Drakon.

At the precinct, Laurel found herself ushered into the office of the major case lieutenant, who just happened to be her father, Quentin Lance. The perpetually-sour expression on the man's face, tinged as always with the bitterness of losing his youngest daughter in the accident that claimed the _Queen's Gambit_ five years earlier, was particularly sour as he gazed at his eldest with a look in his eyes that would've made most officers fidget. But not Laurel Lance; perhaps it was because she had been given worse looks by him during her own time spent dating Oliver Queen, or perhaps there was just something about the Lance family that glares, even from their own family, did nothing to them; whatever it was that kept her calm while getting such a look from her father, it helped her keep an even expression as she waited for the eventual fallout.

For his part, Quentin Lance was frustrated. "No back-up, again?" he asked, or perhaps that was demanded. "Tell me, Laurel, why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep chasing down perps on your own, not giving any thought to calling in back-up? Especially since every single time, they end up dead and you're the one standing over the body. About the only thing keeping you from being drummed out of the force is because its never been your firearm, and surveillance in the Glades always puts you entering the buildings or alleys _after_ shots ring out. So tell me, why d'you keep doing this? Why no back-up? You gotta death wish? Is that it? I've already lost one daughter, Laurel. Don't make me lose another."

Laurel kept up her stoic expression, even though she wanted to give her father all the information she was hunting for, and what the reasons behind that was. But she had a private investigation she was running, one he would hate for her to be doing, especially since it would continually re-open old wounds best left sealed. But she couldn't leave it alone; not until she was certain that there was nothing to what had happened. "Because the only cop in this precinct, besides you, that I trust is Hilton, and he has a wife and kids to go home to," Laurel replied, giving her father a look he knew all too well. They had had this argument before, about how many of the cops working at the precinct were on the take for the likes of Adam Hunt, who was one of Laurel's main targets due to his name constantly coming up in investigations, as well as the fact that Laurel's friend from university, Joanna De La Vega, was currently working at a legal aid office in the Glades called CNRI. They were working on a class-action lawsuit against Hunt, but were continually stone-walled, and some of their clients threatened into silence.

"Did you get anything from the guy before he drowned in his own blood?" Quentin asked.

"Just a name. Drakon," Laurel replied, and noticed a shift in Quentin's personality. He appeared uncomfortable. "You know it?" Quentin nodded, but kept quiet. "Dad, please! This could be the break we need to bring down Hunt and who knows how many others!"

Quentin sighed and went to a file cabinet. Pulling it open, he brought out a file and slapped it down on his desk. "Constantin Drakon has been on our radar for a long time. He's officially considered an independent security consultant, which is just legal speak for mercenary. He works for whoever will pay, and he takes any and every job he can, regardless of the morality or immorality. He's even got a couple deaths for entire families attributed to him."

"Why isn't he already in Iron Heights?" Laurel asked, flipping through the file and feeling like she was going to be sick, but also feeling a trickle of hope. The man was a monster, all right; just the kind of man who might shed some light on whether or not the _Queen's Gambit_ had sunk of its own accord, or if someone could've been hired to bring it down while it was en route to China. Everything about that voyage seemed a bit off; Laurel had checked the coordinates for the mayday call, and after researching, found the _Gambit_ had been on the outer edges of the Class 2 storm that was blamed for its destruction. The winds in that area wouldn't have been strong enough to take it down; something else had to have happened for the _Gambit_ to sink.

"Because the people who employ him are paid up with the right people. You know better than anyone that in this city, money talks more than the law," Quentin said, and winced just a little at the look he received from his daughter.

"When are you going to give up this vendetta of yours?" she demanded to know. "I made my peace with the Queens; it wasn't their fault. It was Oliver's; and it was _Sara's_ as well. She was no angel, Dad, you know that. Oliver at least has the excuse of being a male. What was Sara's?" Laurel finished, giving her father a glare. She couldn't quite come out and say she was dating Tommy to try and get close to the recently-united Merlyn-Queen family. She had her suspicions about how the _Gambit _was targeted, and being a part of the social group that frequented Queen Mansion was among the necessary requirements for that part of her investigation. She could probably have just 'adopted' Thea as a baby sister, but Tommy had filled the older sibling role well, and honestly, it had matured him. He had actually managed to get his father to respect him by pitching a new area for Merlyn Global to become involved in; the club scene.

Malcolm had been reluctant, but at both Tommy and Laurel's suggestion, had surreptitiously visited one of the main clubs in Starling City. He had found that the possible cash flow for such a place was not only viable, but exponential when one considered the fact that college attendees from not only Starling, but Central and Coast Cities also flocked to these clubs. Tommy was now in charge of the 'entertainment division' of Merlyn Global, and had inherited his father's mansion after Malcolm had finally won over the icy Moira Queen and moved into the Queen Mansion.

Glancing at her watch, Laurel cursed. She glanced up at her Dad and moved around the desk. She pecked him on the cheek and said, "Sorry, Dad. I gotta go. Sunday dinner at the Mansion." It was a very clear warning shot that she wouldn't tolerate him badmouthing the Queens and Merlyns anymore, especially comparing them to the likes of Adam Hunt.

Quentin watched Laurel head out the door, looking sour. He knew he'd gone too far the moment he implied the Queens and Merlyns were like Hunt. Still, he wished his daughter would take back-up on these less-than-legal investigations. The only thing that kept her from losing her badge was because ballistics always cleared her. But one of these days, Quentin knew that one of these scumbags, whether it be Drakon, Hunt, or someone else, would be smart enough to bribe the forensics technicians into falsifying a trail that would see his last daughter locked away for a crime she didn't commit.

Quentin knew that the only way she would take someone with her was if he found someone who was trustworthy, and not able to be corrupted by the influences that often plagued the precinct. Sighing, Quentin sat at his computer and began looking through the resumes that had been collecting on his server. There was a great many people wanting to transfer into the Glades, and Quentin was well-aware most of them wanted the transfer so they could get away with a lot of shit they couldn't in the rest of the city.

It was time to find his daughter a partner who would watch her back, and, if necessary, _hold her back_.

At the Queen Mansion, Malcolm Merlyn was on the phone with one of his associates. "Did she find anything out?" he asked.

"Just my last name, not that it'll help," Constantine Drakon replied on the other end of the line. They were speaking using one of Drakon's many burner phones to ensure there was never a trail to Malcolm Merlyn, one of the few 'legitimate' businessmen left in Starling City. It wouldn't do for people to learn that Malcolm had organized for the Glades to be kept in its current state by using his resources on the List to keep the people there downtrodden. He would prefer to keep those he knew in power in the Glades until the Undertaking was complete. New crime lords in the district would be very bothersome, and he preferred not to utilize his assassin's gear unless he absolutely had to.

The last time the 'Dark Archer' as many called his alter ego (those in his organization believed the Archer to be his enforcer rather than he himself, an illusion he was all too willing to perpetuate) had been when Frank Chen had threatened to tell Moira what really happened to the _Queen's Gambit _upon learning of the romance Malcolm was cultivating with the widowed Queen. Moira had believed the storm had caused the _Gambit's_ destruction, and Malcolm had made sure Robert had shared none of his suspicions with Moira while acting the part of a devastated friend. Robert _had_ been a good friend, and Malcolm missed Robert's counsel, but the second Robert had planned to turn on him Malcolm had foresworn any friendship they might've had and ended the threat. He regretted the collateral damage of Oliver and Sara Lance, but it couldn't be helped. It was Robert's own fault that his son and Ms. Lance were on the Gambit to begin with; anyone who was moving against such a man as Malcolm should've considered such ramifications.

Moira had been a comfort, and he had eventually confided in her his plans for Starling. Not all of them, of course; but she knew he was currently working on plans to develop the Glades into something better and that he had hopes of evicting those who gloried in the criminal element from their current residences after he 'bought up' the properties in the Glades. Moira didn't know, of course, that he already _had_ control of the Glades' property. His plans were more for what would come after the Undertaking was complete. He could almost envision the beautiful homes that he would build, and he intended for the park that the city's new area would center around being named after his late wife, Rebecca.

"Don't get arrogant," Malcolm said now, warning Drakon. "Laurel Lance is not to be underestimated. She's got questions she needs the answers to. Keep off her radar as much as you can, and if you need to. . . drop some of your clients." Drakon was, legally speaking, an independent contractor, but he was also the chief acolyte for Merlyn's circle of apprentices. Some focused on archery, others on other forms of combat. Drakon was capable of fighting not only with esoteric weapons such as bows and knives, but also firearms. That, Malcolm had firmly believed, was one failing of the League of Assassins, a failing he had not continued in the training of his Acolytes. If there was one thing Malcolm had always ensured, it was that he had back-up plans for his back-up plans. On the off-chance he was ever exposed, his Acolytes could continue the mission he had set for himself 19 years ago.

"Malcolm?" he heard Moira call as she came down the hallway.

Malcolm, speaking to Drakon, said, "Keep up the good work; we'll touch bases in the office," before ending the conversation, making it appear to Moira, as she entered his study, that he had just ended a business call. "Moira," he said with a smile, "am I late for dinner?"

"No," Moira said, her smile still tinged with sadness at losing her son (though she had gained something of a replacement in Tommy); it was, after all, coming up on the anniversary of the _Gambit_'s sinking. "I just thought I'd tell you that it looks like there's a new bidder on the Unidac auction in a few weeks. I know you were interested in that particular company."

"Oh?" Malcolm said, raising an eyebrow. "Do we know who it is?"

"Just a company name," Moira replied. "A most unusual one. Lian Yu Holdings; there's no record of who runs the company, but they appear to have sprung to prominence only recently. It may be a shell company for a much larger corporation, of course."

"I'll have my contacts look into it," Malcolm said, typing in Lian Yu Holdings on his computer. "Dinner still set for 7?"

"Yes, we're just waiting on Laurel," Moira replied. "Apparently, she got caught up in an investigation and had to listen to Quentin's histrionics." Here, Moira's lips twitched. While she had had amicable relations with both Quentin and Dinah before the sinking of the _Gambit_, the loss of Sara had ruined those relations. Quentin had, at one time, called Moira a 'cold-hearted bitch' and that had been the last time they spoke.

Not long after, she and Malcolm had begun seeing one another romantically. After a time, she had felt she could trust Malcolm enough with the secret she had kept from him, that Thea was his daughter. Malcolm had taken the news with a joy she had rarely seen in him, and Thea Merlyn (in her vulnerable state, the girl had embraced her new father and his name) had access to the best schools the combined wealth of the Queen-Merlyn family could afford. Her relationship with Tommy had improved and Tommy had taken his role as an older brother seriously, and it was that change that had prompted Malcolm to listen to his son when Tommy had suggested an expansion into the entertainment industry (at least as far as the club scene went).

Malcolm, well aware of his wife's feelings for Quentin Lance, smiled and said, "I'll be down at 10 'til." The two parted with a light kiss.

In the Glades, a green-leather clad figure raced from rooftop to rooftop, leaping and crouching when necessary. His first target was a low-level thug working for one of the local crime lords, Adam Hunt. He needed intel on the man, and the best way to get intel was to start from the bottom up. The thug was known to frequent a local 'back-alley casino' run by the Triads. Coming to a rooftop overlooking the entrance to the club, the Emerald Archer crouched and lay in wait for his target to leave. He had spent a few days in a hotel in Central City, researching what he could of Adam Hunt's criminal organization to prepare for this first step.

After two hours of crouching there, like a jungle predator waiting for prey to make its move, the target stumbled out of the club, flush with cash from a night of luck. The thug lived not far from the club, Oliver knew, and he followed the man, hoping for a window. If no window came, he would simply ambush the man in his apartment. However, luck was with him as the man took a detour down an alleyway. Oliver, on a fire escape, loaded his bow and fired a shot that pierced through the man's right leg just above the kneecap. The man let out a loud, "What the fuck!" as he landed, groaning in agony as he moved his hands down to where the _arrow_ protruded from his knee. Oliver landed cat-like in front of the man, loading another arrow. "WHO ARE YOU?" the thug shouted.

"A scourge," Oliver replied, his voice altered by a device similar to those used by the likes of the League of Assassins. When he eventually revealed his public face (Oliver Queen), he didn't want people to connect his voice to that of the mysterious vigilante archer, and when you were frightened with adrenalin rushing through your veins, you could remember a lot. Not that that was a concern with this particular scum. "Where is Adam Hunt's base of operations?"

"Wha- I don't know! I'm just a grunt!" the man yelled. "Now fuck off!"

"Wrong answer," Oliver replied, and fired another arrow. This one grazed the man's cheek. "Next one goes in your shoulder!"

"I don't know where the main operations are run from!" the man yelled. As Oliver pulled another arrow from his quiver, the man raised his hands. "Woah, woah! I don't know, but there's a staging warehouse! He ships the drugs from there!"

"Where?" Oliver demanded to know.

"It's opposite the docks, the lease says Carrington Foodstuffs!" the thug said. "Just-just let me go, man!"

"Why would I let a man who rapes high school girls and gets off on the misery of their families go?" Oliver asked softly, thinking of his sister and what this man does to girls just like Thea. He let loose one last arrow, which cut off the man's scream of horror as it pierced his throat. Blood gurgled passed the arrow that had lodged itself there, and Oliver departed back onto the rooftops as sirens filled the air. Someone had heard the screams and called the cops.

At the Queen Mansion, Laurel was smiling at a joke Tommy had told her and Thea when her cell phone buzzed. Looking at the message, she sighed and said, "Sorry, I gotta go. Looks like another body dropped near that casino the Triads run."

"In the Glades?" Tommy asked, concerned. He knew the casino, having gone there himself once with Oliver on a dare from Max Fuller (which had ended, predictably, in a brawl).

"Yeah," Laurel said, rolling her eyes at Tommy's sometimes-tiresome protective nature. She was a cop, for crying out loud, and she worked in the Glades Precinct.

"Be careful, Laurel," Malcolm said, idly handling his champagne glass.

"Thank you, Mr. Merlyn," Laurel replied with a smile, and she left.

Arriving at the crime scene twenty minutes later, Laurel found her father waiting there with an African-American man in plain-clothes. "Witness?" she asked, nodding to the man.

"No," Quentin said. "Laurel, this is Detective John Diggle. He's transferred from Central City. He'll be your new partner for _all_ your investigations." Here, Quentin gave Laurel a significant look, and Laurel got the unspoken message: Diggle was not a corrupt cop. She nodded slightly, and reached out her hand.

"Laurel Lance," she introduced herself.

Diggle's eyebrows shot up. He turned to look at the lieutenant, and Laurel said, "We'll explain that bit later, John. Right now, I think we've got a crime scene."

"Yeah, and it's a weird one," Diggle replied, motioning for her to follow him. She stopped in her tracks once they were in sight of the body. A thug in thrift-store clothing was laying on the ground, two emerald arrows in him. Laurel had had a couple of crime scenes, as had her father, over the years that involved black arrows. "This is Richie Carmichael. His rap sheet has charges for assault, rape, and drug trafficking. Notes say he had a connection to Adam Hunt. I understand you've been trying to find dirt on that one." Here, Diggle looked at Laurel with a piercing gaze.

"A friend of mine from college is working at CNRI," Laurel explained, "and she's trying to build a class action lawsuit. But firm evidence of Hunt's criminal activity could help that case immensely."

"A good endeavor," Diggle said. "So, what do you think of this one?"

Laurel, stooping down to examine the body more closely, said, "These arrows are different."

"What do you mean, different?" Diggle asked.

"This isn't the first case with arrows in a corpse we've had here," Quentin said. "We've got a killer out there who uses black arrows, but there haven't been any solid connections between the victims. Either the killer's traded in for a different set of arrows. . ."

"Or there's another archer out there," Laurel finished. "I'm not sure which one I'm more worried about."

"I don't blame you," Diggle replied with a snort. "Talking around the neighborhood, looks like this guy was a regular at that casino; whoever killed him knew that and prepared accordingly."

"Guess our next stop is to speak with Adam Hunt," Laurel said grimly. "Though we'll have to wait until tomorrow, since he doesn't appreciate house calls."

After a bit more investigation of the scene, Laurel took her leave and headed back to her apartment. She had a long day ahead of her tomorrow, and the last thing she needed was a night of no sleep, which is what she would have gotten if she went to the Queen Mansion (she still didn't know why Mr. Merlyn kept his old home since both he and Tommy lived at the Queen Mansion).

Arriving back at her apartment, she grabbed a beer from her fridge and curled up on the couch to watch the news before falling asleep. Same old, same old; Glades in disrepair, cops and city council ignore the problem, blah, blah, blah. She wondered if the media even bothered to come up with something more original anymore or if they kept with the same old shtick because they didn't have anything better to do or to report on.

A light breeze ruffled her hair, blowing her dyed tresses over her shoulder. She frowned; she didn't remember leaving a window open. As she stood to find the window and close it, a white cloth held by a black-gloved hand closed over her mouth and nose, and she detected the scent of chloroform before she began to drift away after a brief struggle.

Constantine Drakon smiled in satisfaction as the 'demon of Glades Precinct' went limp. Hefting the unconscious woman over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, Drakon left the apartment. Mr. Hunt and Mr. Merlyn had both requested (separately, of course) that he find out what Ms. Lance knew about their separate operations, and Mr. Hunt had specified the woman needed to die after the interrogation. Considering the woman knew his name, Drakon was all too willing to commit this particular crime free of charge, and had given Hunt that bonus, something the man was quite grateful for. After some consideration, Drakon had decided to hold the interrogation in the staging warehouse where they packaged and shipped the drugs Adam Hunt supplemented his income with; to add to the fear he wished to instill in Lance before killing her, he had decided to dress in his Acolyte uniform, which was modeled after Malcolm Merlyn's own gear.

Securing Ms. Lance to a chair in the center of the room, Drakon filled a bucket with cold water from a tap in the room and woke the woman up by drenching her. Turning on the voice changer he had been supplied with by Merlyn, Drakon said, "Good evening, Ms. Lance."

"Who are you? Where am I?" Laurel said, looking around even as she worked her wrists, trying to find a way free.

"I am simply the agent of more powerful men, men whom you've angered, Ms. Lance," Drakon replied. He stepped closer, flicking his wrist to drop one of his favored blades into his hand. Gripping Laurel's chin and forcing him to look at him, he raised the blade toward her face. "Now, tell me what you've been investigating. What do you know of Adam Hunt? Of the sinking of the _Queen's Gambit_?"

Laurel stopped struggling and said, "Hunt was behind that?"

"No," Drakon laughed. "But I work for the one who was. Now, tell me what you know. . . ." He dragged the blade lightly across her skin, and was rewarded with the wince she had at the small cut. "That was a warning, Ms. Lance. Answer my questions now, and you won't look like you've been through a meat-slicer when they find your corpse."

Across the street, the Emerald Archer had arrived on the rooftop of a neighboring warehouse. He had come here primarily for recon and moved to the rooftop for a good view. But what he saw in the warehouse made his blood run cold. A man dressed in the gear used by the League of Assassins was standing close, _too close_, to Laurel, who was tied to the chair. A glint in the assassin's hand told Oliver enough to know that he would need to intervene. Firing a zipline arrow across the way, he used his bow as a 'glider' and smashed through the glass, ducking down to avoid the throwing knife sent in his direction.

Standing he fired an arrow towards the assassin, who dived out of the way while throwing another knife. The two men each ducked behind pillars, Oliver tossing a mini-arrow directly at Laurel's chair, which embedded in the armrest near her hand. He noticed her trying to get to it moments later and smiled. Good; she was still able to think during a crisis. Deciding to distract the assassin, Oliver called out, "What interest does Ra's Al'Ghul have in Starling City?"

"I do not serve Ra's Al'Ghul," came the reply. "I am the acolyte of another."

"Then why do you dress as though you were a member of the League?" Oliver returned, knocking another arrow.

"Unlike you, my friend, we believe in masking our presence in urban areas," Drakon replied. "Black is best for urban combat and camouflage."

"Who do you work for?" Oliver asked.

"He works for Adam Hunt, and someone else," Laurel interjected, cutting herself free.

"Laurel, down!" Oliver called out, and Laurel ducked on instinct, and barely missed getting a throwing knife in her neck. Oliver turned and fired an explosive arrow in the direction of the assassin, lodging it in the floor near the man. A moment later the arrow exploded, sending Drakon sprawling backwards. The man barely managed to escape another arrow, and smashed through the window with a muttered oath. Oliver scowled and turned to face Laurel, who was standing.

"Who are you?" Laurel asked. "You knew my name."

"It's not difficult to know the name of the woman who strikes fear in the hearts of scum in the Glades," Oliver replied, glad he had kept his voice changer active. If he hadn't, he had a good idea Laurel would've already realized who he was. "Why was he after you?"

"A friend of mine asked me to look into Adam Hunt," Laurel replied. She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "But he also claimed to work for someone else. Someone I _want_ to take down."

"Who?" Oliver asked softly.

"I don't know their name, he didn't reveal that," Laurel replied. "But it's the same person who was behind the sinking of the _Queen's Gambit_."

Oliver forced himself to not show any reaction as he said, "It was my understanding that that was an accident."

"Yeah, I heard that, too," Laurel said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "But my boyfriend and my sister both _died_ on that boat. I needed closure. I knew Robert Queen, and he wouldn't have driven head-on into a storm, not with his son onboard. He would've turned around. I found that they did. The distress call was sent from the outer edges of the storm. I know there's something else to what happened; I've been investigating it off-the-books."

Oliver felt conflicted. On the one hand, it was gratifying to know someone else believed that the sinking wasn't an accident; but on the other, Laurel was the one person Oliver didn't want close to the truth. His father and Sara had both died because of this; he was _not_ going to lose someone else he cared about. But she wouldn't listen to him unless it was made clear why she should back away.

"Stop investigating," he said. "Go back to your life."

"I'm not going to give up just because some man in a hood saves me and tells me to," Laurel countered.

"You want reasons, fine," Oliver said, closing the distance between them and thanking the foresight he had to use a mask and voice-changer again. His eyes were cold and unrecognizable now, he knew that for a fact. "On the off-chance you're not outright killed by whoever brought the _Gambit_ down, they'll drive you to kill yourself like Robert Queen did. If you don't give up, they'll kill you like they did your sister, Sara Lance, but not before torturing every bit of information out of you that they can, just like what happened to Oliver Queen."

Laurel backed away, horror crossing her features. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm the man who saw it all. The deaths, the torture, and I knew I had to make it right," Oliver said. "I've come to Starling City to find the man who killed Sara Lance and the Queens. Don't get in my way, Detective Lance. Consider this your only warning." With that, Oliver back through the window as sirens could be heard. Laurel collapsed to the ground, shaking from a combination of adrenalin and sobs.

The door burst open not soon after, and she raised her head to see her father and Diggle rushing forward with a SWAT team. "Laurel!" Quentin cried out, and ran up to her. "Laurel, baby, talk to me! What happened here? Who brought you here?"

"I-I don't know," Laurel said, shakily. "He worked for Adam Hunt."

"Sir, we got a green arrow here," one of the SWAT said to Quentin.

Before Quentin could say anything in reply, Laurel uttered a soft, "He-he saved me."

Quentin, distracted by his daughter, asked, "Who did, Laurel? Who saved you?"

Meeting her father's gaze, Laurel said, "The Emerald Archer."

In the CEO's office of Merlyn Global, Malcolm was doing research on Lian Yu Holdings. He had uncovered some information, primarily that until recently, Lian Yu Holdings had primarily been based in Russian territories. There was no clue as to who the CEO was, and the only contact name he had for a local resident connected to LY Holdings was an Alexi Leonov, who worked part-time as a mechanic at a Russian repair shop. There was something going on here, something that didn't fit. Malcolm swore to himself he would uncover this, even if it meant influencing things a bit at the stock offering. He rarely attended such things himself anymore, but if the only way to draw out the CEO of LY Holdings was if it was a requirement that the winner of the stock option be present, than he would do so.

A grunt of pain was the only sound that announced that Malcolm had a visitor, though he had sensed another rpresence in the office. Looking up, he saw Drakon sitting gingerly in the chair in front of his desk. "How did it go with Ms. Lance?"

"It didn't," Drakon replied, scowling. "Before I could do much more than threaten her, that archer came in."

"What archer?" Malcolm asked.

"You hadn't heard?" Drakon asked incredulously. He had thought Merlyn had ears everywhere. "One of Hunt's men was killed earlier tonight by an archer who uses green arrows. That guy came through the window before I could get too far into the interrogation. . . . and he knew about the League."

"He did?" Malcolm asked quietly. "Not many outside the League or the Acolytes know of it. Most people think it's a myth."

"Well, he knew enough to ask what interest the League's leader had in Starling City," Drakon replied. "But he's not gonna dig down that particular path. He knows I don't answer to the League, but that's it."

"Good, good," Malcolm said. "I don't need Ra's trying to find out what's happening here in Starling. If what's coming is revealed to be anything but a natural disaster and it's traced back to me, not only will Ra's take an interest in Starling, but he'll end the lives of _anyone_ associated with the Undertaking." After a moment, Malcolm pinned Drakon with a stare. "I presume, then, that Ms. Lance is alive and well."

"She is," Drakon replied. "But this archer showed up at the warehouse where the thug he killed earlier works as a guard for Adam Hunt. He's going after Hunt for some reason."

"I think it's time you end your employ with Mr. Hunt, Constantine," Malcolm said. "Perhaps you can have a few words with Mr. Hunt before you do?"

"With pleasure," Drakon replied with a smirk. "That man is a waste. But weren't you concerned about new crime lords?"

"I think most will be too fearful to take up such a title with this new archer out there," Malcolm replied. "Hunt's territories will instead be swallowed up by the remaining crime bosses." Malcolm had been studying the criminal element of Starling City for over a decade, and knew its tactics and antics like he knew his own name.

Across town, a man entered his home with every intention of heading for bed and ignoring any calls until the next morning. He had been searching for work recently, having been let go from his position at Queen Consolidated when the company had merged with Merlyn Global. Malcolm Merlyn had believed him. . . . incompatible with the new paradigm at QC (now considered the Applied Sciences Division of Merlyn Global) and had him dismissed. He suspected Malcolm had also been at work to keep him from getting any positions here in Starling, and considering the fact that he had attempted to speak with Mrs. Merlyn (as she was now called) about the _Queen's Gambit_ and his suspicions, Walter Steele had no doubts that that was the reason for this apparent blacklisting.

"Mr. Steele," said a man sitting in his living room, startling Walter. "I have a proposal for you."

"An odd way to approach someone about any sort of proposal, breaking into their home," Walter said mildly, frowning. The cadence of the voice was. . . . familiar, as though he had heard it before, though not for a long time. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police."

The man stood and walked towards Walter as he said, "Because my father trusted you, even more than he trusted Malcolm Merlyn." The man stepped into the light to reveal the visage of Oliver Queen.

"Oliver," Walter whispered, shocked. He looked behind the younger man. "Your father. . . . is he?"

"He didn't make it," Oliver said, and Walter felt a moment of grief flood over him. "But the _Gambit_ didn't sink because of a storm, Walter. It was sabotaged." The grief was washed away by a coldness that Walter had never felt in his life, an anger that he didn't think himself possible of having. Yet it was there, present in his blood. "I found a message from Dad a few years later. He had left some evidence, not much, but enough to start tracking. Unfortunately, I was. . . . delayed in returning here until recently."

"What evidence?" Walter asked sharply.

"No names, not even bank accounts," Oliver said, seeing that Walter was hoping for a simple way of getting revenge for Robert's murder. "Just newspaper clippings, showing that someone very powerful was at work in Starling, suppressing those who couldn't defend themselves. The people of the Glades, primarily." Here, Oliver's voice took on a bitter tinge. "Before he died, Dad told me he had failed this city, that he and others like him had wronged this city. I don't know who was involved, but someone murdered my father. He may have been the one to end his own life, but he wouldn't have if not out of desperation." Oliver's voice went back to a relatively flat tone. "There's something I need your help with."

"What is it, Oliver?" Walter asked.

"Until we find out who killed my father and bring them to justice, Oliver Queen can't come back to life," Oliver said. "I need to stay dead. I have a company I'm using, Lian Yu Holdings. It needs someone to act as CEO until the company it's an arm of can come into the public eye."

"What company is that?" Walter asked, though he suspected he knew.

Here, Oliver allowed a tired smirk to cross his face. "Queen Industries."

"I'll be proud to take that position for you, Oliver, until you can come back into the light," Walter said. He hated that the younger man would have to live off-the-grid, but he could see the necessity of it. They were up against powerful forces, now.

"Thank you," Oliver said fervently. "There's a company that's gone into receivership. According to the evidence my father left me, Unidac Industries is a key in whatever he and the others were planning."

"You want me to make sure we end up receiving ownership of Unidac," Walter said simply.

"Yes. I've already made sure LY Holdings is in the bidding war for it," Oliver said. "Don't let anyone get a hold of it."

"I won't," Walter promised. Oliver nodded, and, pulling the hood of his black hoodie up to cover his face, left Walter's home. Walter went to the living room and looked down at a picture of himself, Robert, and Malcolm Merlyn on a hunting trip. "You would be proud of him, Robert," Walter said. "He's become a better man than either of us might've believed."

Finally back at her apartment, Laurel Lance found herself eying the brandy that Tommy had poured her; her boyfriend, hearing what had happened over the radio, had come to see her home safely and insisted he be allowed to stay. If that wasn't enough, Tommy's father had kindly provided bodyguards for the two of them to make sure they weren't disturbed. Now, Laurel found herself bothered by what she had been told by not only the mysterious assassin, if that was what he was, but also by the Emerald Archer, as she had decided to call the man to differentiate from the other one.

"Hey, you're looking kinda serious there," Tommy said, sitting down next to her. "You want to tell me what happened tonight?"

"You already know," Laurel said, but the defensive note to her tone gave away the apprehension and dread she had been feeling since being told the fate of her sister, Mr. Queen, and Ollie.

"Try again, Laurel," Tommy said, smiling at her.

Laurel sighed, and looked at Tommy with a sort of resigned dread. "The Emerald Archer. . . . he told me something tonight."

"What?" Tommy asked.

"Before I tell you, there's something you need to know," Laurel said, knowing what she was about to say was going to crush Tommy, because of how close he had been with Robert and Oliver. "I've been investigating something off the books. . . . the _Gambit_."

"W-What about the _Gambit_?" Tommy asked. "It went down in the storm."

"No, Tommy, it didn't," Laurel sighed. "Something didn't sit right with me, so I checked the weather reports and the point where the _Gambit_ made its mayday hail. It was on the outer edges of the storm, well past the danger point. The Archer told me tonight the yacht had been sabotaged. . . . but Robert, Oliver, and-and Sara had gotten off."

"They're alive?" Tommy asked, looking hopeful. Laurel's expression caused his own to drop. "What happened?"

"He told me. . . . he told me that Mr. Queen killed himself, and that Sara was killed at some point," Laurel said. "As for Ollie. . . . he said he was tortured for information."

"What information?" Tommy demanded to know.

"I don't know, he wouldn't tell me, and nothing's come up in my investigation so far," Laurel said. "The other guy tonight, he worked for whoever brought down the _Gambit_, Tommy. They're here, somewhere in Starling City, and the Archer is hunting for them. He told me to stay out of his way."

Tommy studied her for a moment before sighing. "You're going to keep investigating, aren't you?"

"What d'you think, Tommy? That I'm just going to let things rest now that I know that Robert, Ollie, and Sara were _murdered_?" Laurel shook her head. "No, I'm going to find out who did this, no matter what. If that Archer really wanted me to stop, he would've killed me tonight. But he saved me; and I want to know why." Tommy grimaced at Laurel's determined expression; he hated that look. It usually meant a lot of pain. . . . for the scum of the Glades.

"I know I can't stop you, so I won't try," Tommy said. "But please, Laurel. . . . Be careful. We've already lost Ollie, Robert, and Sara. None of us, including your Dad, can lose you too."

"I will, Tommy," Laurel promised.

"I need to go see my Dad about something," Tommy told her. "I'll come back when I can. I'm gonna leave one of the guys outside the apartment, okay. I don't want to risk that guy coming after you again."

"Thanks, Tommy," Laurel replied, knowing he was just trying to keep her safe but also let her do her own thing. That was more than her father would normally do.

At the Queen Mansion, the door to Malcolm's study opened and Moira Queen-Merlyn entered. Malcolm had found her desire to honor Robert's memory by not abandoning his name completely commendable and was unconcerned with it. Moira did love Malcolm, but she didn't trust the man. Despite her apparent 'dutiful wife' façade, she was as sharp as ever and knew that Malcolm had had _something_ to do with the _Gambit's_ sinking. She had been the one to urge Robert to seek an alliance with Frank, who had been killed by some sort of archer some time ago. Moira knew that this mysterious figure likely worked for Malcolm, and she wondered why he had waited until then to kill Frank when Robert and Oliver had already been dead for years.

Moira sat at Malcolm's desk and began working to find any information he might have kept on this laptop. There wasn't much; it was primarily dedicated to Unidac Industries and it's projects. She wondered why Malcolm was so interested in that particular company and in geological technologies. Merlyn Global did not have any particular interest in such environmental technologies, as Moira understood it, and she understood quite a bit.

Sighing, Moira cleared the history of her presence and shut down the computer before leaving the office. Perhaps it was time to send another anonymous message to Laurel Lance. Moira knew that Constantine Drakon, the city's primary Fixer, had a connection to Adam Hunt and Frank, and had sent an anonymous tip through a relay of sources that would point Laurel in Hunt's direction.

At Merlyn Global, Tommy arrived in his father's office. "We have a problem, Dad," Tommy said, nodding to Constantine Drakon, who nodded back. "Despite this Archer's warning, Laurel's not giving up." Tommy had been read-in on the Undertaking after he had witnessed a mother being shot in front of her children and chased down the man who had done it. That man had nearly killed Tommy when the Dark Archer had saved him and revealed himself to be Tommy's father. Knowing that for every innocent in the Glades there was 10 or 20 more like the man who had nearly killed him, and the man who _had_ killed his mother, Tommy had not been as adverse to the idea as he might've been if he had remained oblivious.

"Perhaps I should take care of Ms. Lance," Constantine remarked. "She's proving to be far more than just an annoyance."

"No," Malcolm said sharply. "Laurel Lance is a very intelligent woman, something she got from both Dinah and Quentin. If his daughter is killed so soon after being kidnapped, Quentin Lance will never stop hunting. If he's killed, then more people will look into why the Lances were killed, and that will expose the Undertaking. We need something to distract Ms. Lance. . . . Yes. That should do it."

Malcolm stood and entered his own lair, scanning his thumbprint to do so. Inside, he opened a drawer and pulled out a file. He walked over to Tommy and said, "Give this to Laurel. It's an evidence trail I've carefully doctored that points to Frank Chen as the culprit, via the Triads. If she pokes into that hornet's nest, and they decide to kill her, the connection will not be made between the _Gambit_ and the Undertaking. Frank Chen will go down as the culprit, and the case closed."

Tommy looked conflicted. "Dad, I know she's pushing things, but. . . ."

Malcolm sighed and said, "Tommy, Laurel has positioned herself in our lives for one purpose: to track down those responsible for killing her sister. She will _not_ stop until she finds the connection."

Tommy sighed and nodded, resigned. As he turned to go, he remembered something. "Dad, there's something else. The Archer. . . . he told Laurel that Robert, Sara, and Oliver survived the _Gambit_."

"Where are they?" Malcolm said sharply.

"Dead," Tommy replied. "According to the Archer, Sara was killed, Mr. Queen killed himself, and. . . . and Oliver was tortured for information before being killed."

Malcolm leaned back in his seat. "Apparently, there's more than one player on the field," he said. "I think it's time I investigate this Archer myself."

_**A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed this first chapter. This will be a 'once a month' update, though I might be able to do a two-week update schedule if I'm lucky. **_


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